Walk Don't Run
by mentalagent13
Summary: This is going to have 3 chapters. Each word in the phrase is a chapter title. It's an introspective relationship piece about how Tony and Ziva get to..something in a different way.
1. Walk

**A/N: **I am (hopefully) going to start a good fic with a few chapters. I am hoping to finish it before I go back to school next semester. I'm attempting a theme, but am unsure of how it is going to work out. Each story will be standalone one shots.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to NCIS.

**Walk**

Walking gives her time to think. It gives her the time she needs to consider all the events from the past few days as well as mull over what may happen in the coming days. It gives her the time to study the people around her. She can read the joy on their faces or empathize with sadness. The cold air rips through her body opening cracks in her soul that summer heat seals. There is something about walking on a cold day that reminds her of the desolation she has seen in her lifetime.

The trees on the National Mall bare. The slightest breeze sends them shivering. Every mark that time has placed upon those trees is open for all to see. They bear the burden without complaint, ever keeping their branches raised high to the sky, waiting for the moment to blossom in beautiful glory once again. It is in this moment she is relieved that she is not a tree. If the scars on her bark would match the ones on her soul it would be hard to find any smooth surface.

She slowly makes her way past the museums and monuments, choosing instead to keep moving. The cold seeps through the jacket she is wearing numbing her outside, while her thoughts do the same inside. Her world has changed greatly since she moved to the United States. Most days that is enough, but some days it cannot be. Her past haunts her. This same path through the green is the only option she has for healing. Nothing else has proven as effective.

She used to run, focusing only on her footfalls and breathing to prove that she survived this long. Speed is not her friend anymore. The time has come to confront the ghosts hiding in the corners of her mind. Pictures will flood her memory at the most inopportune moments that send her ricocheting into times gone by. Some are long gone involving faces she wishes she could see again one last time, but others are more recent. These are the memories that compel her into motion. Lunch breaks are the usual time for a walk and the Navy Yard is sufficient in a pinch, but on days she is not at her desk, the Mall gives her the activity around her that she needs. It's the sound of English reaching her ears that gives her the best reminder of where she is.

An elderly couple sitting on a bench catches her attention. The couple sits silently studying the people passing by. Their hands are locked together, but creaky fingers prevent interlacing. They don't seem to mind, though. A small smile graces the man's lips, while the woman laughs out loud at some private joke. She feels like an intruder in a world where she does not belong. That is until the woman smiles and greets her. Smiles are exchanged and she continues on her walk.

A child yelling and screaming in glee attracts her eye 30 steps later. Counting steps has become a way for her to refocus her thoughts. Yet the sheer bliss the child is experiencing is intoxicating. Another smile crosses her features as she watches, who appears to be, the father chase his daughter across the grass. He catches the child and tosses the little girl in the air with a hearty laugh. If it is possible, the girl's squeals increase. The mother watches from a bench nearby laughing with her small happy family. It is a sight that she wonders if she will ever witness from the mother's point of view instead of as an outsider.

A sigh escapes her lips when the end of her walk comes into view. Her apartment building looms in front of her. Her body begs her to go inside to revel in the warmth it offers, but her mind relishes the cold. An internal battle ensues, but eventually her quaking body wins. Hypothermia should not be self-induced if only for the sake of thinking. Thoughts can flow inside just as well as out.

She checks her mail before heading to the elevator. For once there aren't any bill collectors seeking to continue to give her what she wants. She could live in a smaller place, but this one suits her better. Tiny rooms with dark corners are no longer her friend. Light is necessary to feel safe in the world she now lives in. She presses the button to call for the elevator and the doors slide open with barely a sound. She steps inside along with a man that lives on the floor above her. He smiles at her and she returns it as the doors close. Each floor they pass is marked by an electronic bell. On her floor the doors slide open to face her door at the end of the hall. She doesn't expect to see a man seated against her door.

"Hey," the man in the elevator steals her attention away. His hand is against the door holding it open. It is clear he has something to say, "Would you want to get a coffee or something sometime?" The question appears harmless, but a whirlwind of options tear through her already tired head. She has talked to him many times and listened when he needed an ear. Is it time to forget what could be and settle for something that is real; for a chance at a life she never thought was possible for her?

"She's busy," a familiar voice says with the hint of a chuckle. The man in the elevator shrugs and nods in what appears to be understanding. She wonders how these men can interact so easily about something that neither has a claim upon, but she doesn't dispute the initial response. With one last smile, the elevator doors close and he is gone. Another chance in her life is gone.

She turns to face the familiar voice. A frown creases his brow. Oddly, it's the first unfriendly face she has seen today. A smile from him would mean more than anything at the moment. His grey coat adds to the darkness of the hall that surrounds them both. Her only wish is for some light. His smiles would bring light to any room. If only she could tell him that she feels that way.

"Where've you been?" he asks her.

"Walking," she answers after an uncomfortable minute.

"For how long?"

She isn't sure how long she was out, but it was longer than she intended. Her coat is not heavy enough for long-term use outside. She knows he can see her shivering, yet he does nothing to alleviate it. He has been doing this more than usual lately. He can read her mind, but he refuses to act upon it. Asking for help or comfort is not a strength of hers.

If asked she will blame the shivering, but eventually she ends up against his broad chest soaking in the warmth he offers. Her hands remain stuffed in her pockets. They may have been reduced to icicles during the time they spent without a proper source of heat. It's frustrating that his arms won't wrap themselves around her of their own accord. For once, she wants him to take the initiative, but he won't. Too many years of fear stand between them for that. Seconds pass and the tension increases. Neither move.

"Let's get inside," he finally offers. She closes her eyes to hold back the tears. Another moment has passed, another chance gone by. Carefully, she raises her head off of his chest. She keeps her eyes downcast to hide the sadness in her eyes. When will they get it right? And if they don't, when will they finally let each other go? Honestly, she's tired of walking.


	2. Don't

**A/N: **My second installment in this series. I hope that you are enjoying this thus far. Thanks to everyone that took the time to read and review. My fan base (a.k.a. my friends that wish to read this) is increasing! Yet, you fans that read just because it's out there have a special place as well. Thank you all.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to NCIS.

**Don't **

It's been one week since she used him as in impromptu pillow. Avoiding him is difficult. At work she can handle the interaction. That is not personal. Catching the killer will be the same every time. Details are to be found, evidence collected, criminal caught, and case closed. They finish the paperwork and go home. The routine is the same the next day. It's the interactions after work that has her cringing every time they leave.

_ Don't think, don't move, don't breathe_, her mind repeats the mantra. He holds the elevator door for her, like he always does. Internally, she sighs and mumbles a thank you in his general direction. She doesn't see him nod. They both stare at the shiny silver in front of them as the elevator makes its way to the garage level. The doors slide apart with their normal _ding. _She exits first and immediately turns left; thankfully, today he is parked on the right.

Her car is cold when she gets in. She can barely slide her keys into place past her shaking fingers. Finally, after more tries than she cares to admit, her key slides into place. She breathes a sigh of relief at the anticipation of heat. The key turns with an audible _click._ That was not the sound she expected. She tries it again with the same result. The lights won't even turn on. A frustrated growl rips past her lips. It's then she sees the position of her switch to turn on the headlights. She forgot to turn them off in her rush to get into the office that morning. Her head makes direct contact with the steering wheel.

A knock on her window forces her to raise her head. The last person she wants to see is standing there breathing into his hands to warm them. Behind him, his Mustang sits idling. She glares at him for a good five seconds before she submits to opening her door. It's cold and she needs a jump. Fixing her car is not a one-woman endeavor this time. It aggravates her that he is the one available. Why couldn't one of their co-workers have left as well?

"Car won't start?" he asks her. Her answering scowl causes him to shrivel into a man 2/3 his usual size. Internally she smiles. At least he is still afraid of what she can do to him. It's this thought that strikes her. The lightning bolt has hit and the veil drawn from her eyes. What if he is afraid of her? But why would he be afraid? He never was before; in fact, he was brazen in his actions until a few months ago. What happened a few months ago?

"I'm gonna pull next to you so we can get to the battery easier; you're lucky I have a set of cables in my trunk," he tells her. She can only nod. Her mind is too busy working out all of the details. His car pulls into the space and he shuts it off. The hood of his mustang lifts slightly when he releases it. He fumbles for the latch with cold fingers, lifts it, then goes to retrieve the jumper cables from his trunk. She watches him do all this with unseeing eyes. Numerous encounters flit through her memory. She is looking for one in particular, one that happened in the heat of the July sun.

The world in front of her disappears from sight as her mind takes her back to a happier time; a time when she could laugh with him and expect those daily reminders that he was with her. It's her kind of weather outside: hot. He is complaining, but she ignores him as the sun warms her skin. She likes the summer. On this particular day she is using his leg as headrest. He is sitting on the ground, while she lays perpendicular to him. She can tell he is lost in thought, so she lets him think. The silence isn't forced. It's what happens next that is important.

He asks her about the one thing she swore she would never talk about: the time in her life when she was at her absolute lowest point. Their most recent case had been a tough one for all of them; a former agent had been killed by a man he put in prison 30 years ago. Hearing about the case would have been enough, but they had to solve it. Of course, the solution does not dissipate the sting of losing a colleague. The criminal now sits in a cell, but an agent was laid in the ground. There was nothing they could do to change that. Instead, Vance gives them the next day off with strict orders to enjoy it. She was, until he asked her about Somalia.

She remembers swallowing hard at his question and deflecting it. She didn't want her day ripped from her hands. When she doesn't talk, he decides to. He tells her about the hopelessness he felt when he found out that she was thought to be dead. He describes his sheer loss of interest in living. There were times when he considered ending it all, but he couldn't do that. He needed someone else to. So, he went to Somalia to get revenge on the man who killed her so he could get closure. He couldn't tell her what his plans were after that because he hadn't planned any farther than that. Tears had rolled down her face at his confession. She kept silent through his story, taking in every detail and storing it away for later use. She recalls their eyes meeting…and her flashback.

It hadn't been a particularly bad one, but he had never witnessed one of her flashbacks. He also did not know the story. Therefore, like any good man and friend would, when she started crying he tried to hug her. She winces at the memory of her shoving him off of her with a forceful _do not touch me_ and briskly walking home. It had taken her mere minutes to bring herself back down, but at the time she had been too focused on remaining calm that she forgot about him. It stuns her that it took her this long to realize he has only been acting the way he thinks she wants him to act.

"Hey, can you pop the hood?" he asks.

"What?" she asks dumbly.

"The hood, ya know the thing that covers the engine?" Her scowl isn't as intimidating as the first one. She understands that he is only trying to lift the tension that has grown between them. Her fingers find the lever without difficulty and the hood is up before she can blink. He attaches the cables without incident and starts his car. Hers roars to life with minimal coaxing. The air coming out of the vents is freezing, making her shiver harder.

"Wanna sit in mine until yours warms up?" he offers. She's about to decline until her ears register the hopefulness in his voice. He is trying. Her numb fingers insist she use his heat. Double checking that her car is in park, she shifts to his passenger seat. His car is blissfully warm. She sighs in contentment. After five glorious minutes there isn't a reason to stay any longer and she smiles her thanks. She swears she hears a whispered 'don't leave' as the car door shuts, sealing them on opposite sides.


	3. Run

**A/N: **This is the last installment in this trilogy. I hope that everyone that read it enjoyed it immensely. I know that I enjoyed writing it. Minor spoilers for season 10. Please let me know what you think of the whole thing (or just this installment). I'm tossing around the idea of a fourth chapter, but I want opinions on that. Thank you all for reading.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing pertaining to NCIS

**Run**

She waits at the elevator for him today. It's a trend that has come back into their lives with ease. Doing this is easy, and expected. At one time there wasn't enough space in the cold metal box, now some days she feels as if there is too much. His presence has becoming stifling at times, but at others she wants to be as close to him as she can get. There are moments they are too close for colleagues, and a few too close for friends. None of those times has felt uncomfortable, in fact they felt the opposite. It scares her.

Even as a child she doesn't remember feeling this comfortable and near content with someone that was not blood related. Her siblings were the people she was closest to until they were gone. Gibbs stepped into the picture at the exact moment she needed him to, and he offered her the best he could. It's more than enough, but something deep inside her craves more.

The path to this realization hasn't been a straight one. There have been many men that came close to making her feel the way she does around him. To her it's almost as if he hasn't put any effort into making her feel safe. He walks into a room and she feels it, even when he looks ready to tear someone's throat out, or is on the verge of screaming in frustration. He is the only person that scares her. The only person she knows that if something should happen to him she would never recover. Not at this stage in her life. He knows too much. They have been through too much together. He means too much to her.

He walks up behind her while she is thinking. He is standing close enough that she can feel the heat he is giving off. It's too close for work, but neither want to move. He only backs away when their boss moves toward them. The distance isn't increased by much, but it's enough to satisfy the team leader who says nothing as he passes.

A rush of cold air hits her when the elevator doors open. She knows that her mind makes it colder because of the space between her and him. It's a thought that she tries to push away. An involuntary shiver runs down her spine. She doesn't have to look to know that he has a smirk on his face. She rolls her eyes and steps onto the elevator. He follows and pushes the button for the garage level.

They get into their cars and drive away in opposite directions. The warm summer breeze begs her to roll her windows down and let it into her car. It's been months since they began the journey. The pace they have kept is steady and…easy. He doesn't move any faster than her. She doesn't have to beg him to follow. He leads when it is necessary and she takes over when he cannot. Their relationship is a symbiotic as possible at this point. One day that is going to crumble, she knows it, but right now she wants to enjoy what is in front of her. She didn't see what happened behind her.

Her phone rings. She sighs at the interruption. It's Gibbs. She prays it isn't a case. She's looking forward to a night to herself. A warm bath and a good book are long overdue. When she answers the phone, she wishes it was a case. His car has been hit, ten blocks from where she is stopped at a red light. Before she can think her car is illegally parked and she is out of it. Traffic is too heavy for her to drive to the scene so she does what she does best. She runs.

Her strides chew up the sidewalk at an alarming rate. She is close to sprinting in shoes not meant for the kind of torture she is putting them through. She weaves through the plethora of people as if they didn't exist. Nothing is going to slow her down. When too many crowd the sidewalk she takes to the street. Car horns blare at her, but she can hardly hear them. No outside sound can overtake the panicked beating of her heart that has nothing to do with the pace she is forcing her tired body to maintain.

Policemen line the crash site keeping out all pedestrians. She flashes her credentials at the closest uniformed officer her stride reduced to a walk. He nods at her and she streaks past him gaining speed with every step. She can see the mangled remains of a dark SUV, a large truck embedded in the back end of the driver's side., fatalities are likely. It's what's on the other side that forces her to a sudden halt. In an attempt to miss the worst of the accident, he must have turned the wheel to the side. His car had done a perfect 45 degree turn, straight into a lamppost. Her hopes at finding him alive diminish. The first wave of tears threatens to spill over. She blinks them away. Now is not the time. She has to find out where he is first.

"Where is the man that was driving the Mustang?" she asks a paramedic near the totaled vehicle. He stares at her for a few seconds too long. Her impatience gets the better of her. "Where is the man that was driving the Mustang?" she asks the paramedic a second time, adding a significant amount of impatience to her voice. Her hands land on her hips out of habit. Quelling the panic that tried to seep into her voice took almost all of her spent energy.

"Over there," the paramedic points to a bench. Miraculously, he is sitting in a park bench with an ice pack on his forehead. A second paramedic is talking to him and shining a light into his eyes. She almost sobs in relief. Composing herself, she jogs over to him. Walking is too slow, but sprinting to him would be excessive. He is only 200 feet from her.

Still, when she reaches him she holds back. The paramedic isn't through with his examination. Sirens in the background catch her attention and bring her out of her focus on him. Medic units and police line the scene, but the first few ambulances must have left already. It's the only explanation she can come up with as to why he is sitting on a bench in the middle of the scene instead of headed toward a hospital. He turns his head and she can see the side of his face is covered in blood. It forces her into motion.

"Ziva? What are you doing here?" he asks her clearly. The paramedic takes one look at her and returns to attending to him. It's odd that he doesn't ask who she is or how she got to the scene. Only then does she remember that he had used her name. The paramedic obviously realized that he knows her.

"Gibbs called me," she tells him. Her hand reaches out to touch his arm. She retracts it inches from making contact. She is unsure of her role in this situation. Does she provide physical comfort or reassuring words? What is allowed based on their current status? Her sudden indecisiveness nearly overtakes her. Seeing him breathing and conscious took the initial fear away. He quickly takes the decision away for her. His hand slides easily into hers as the sirens approach. They don't question her when she steps into the ambulance to accompany him. She holds his hand the entire trip.

**A/N:** Let me know what you think!


	4. Away

**A/N: **Companion piece to Walk Don't Run. I decided it needed an ending, and after a grueling semester of grad school sitting at my computer and writing is a fairly awesome feeling. I am not completely up to date on absolutely everything, so that's a warning. This is a universe that began before Bodner, though so nothing revealing about the latest episodes. I hope you like it and thank you for reading. I appreciate it.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing pertaining to NCIS.

**Away**

Time is slipping through their fingers. It's barely tangible. Holding onto time is like trying to hold onto water. It is not possible. With every passing day, she can feel the clock tick faster, toying with her. It's been months since his accident, months since she felt that something that she never believed she'd feel. No words justify how she feels for him.

They have started a new dance all their own in the months since she ran to him. The steps are simple and they usually end up close enough to share a touch. Feeling him close is an exhilarating feeling she can't describe, explain, or understand. The most striking realization that destroyed the walls around her heart and soul was finding out he trusted her inexplicably. Looking back it shouldn't have been a surprise, but she has spent years keeping him out. Letting him in was much harder than she thought it could be; letting herself go…almost painful.

A knock echoes through the empty space in what was once her apartment. The final box is resting at her feet. She turns to stare at the door wondering who has interrupted her farewell. Her eyes remain glued to the door as she recalls as many memories as she can of events that have taken place in her sanctuary. Her apartment in D.C. was the second place she felt safe after her spirit was shattered in Somalia. The pieces clicked into place here, feeling whole had never felt as it had that night.

A small smile graces her features. The rooms around her didn't bring her back from the brink, nor find all the scattered pieces. It didn't provide the glue, or the frame. No, the people around her did that; all on their own. It was here that she realized she didn't hurt as much, dream as much, and hoped more than ever before.

Her fingers wrap around the knob on her front door for what will most likely be the last time to allow the final visitor to enter. All of the ending words that have been floating through her mind run rampant tonight. They are all attempting to inform her that some part of her life is coming to an end. What part? She isn't sure. Lately it has all been a blur as the time she thought she had slips through her fingers like sand.

"Hey," he says softly from the hallway. His smile is small, but has a trace of sad understanding. She knew he would come to share this moment with her. He has been good. He left her alone for most of the final packing and clearing of the place. Others came to help her, he waited at her possession's destination calmly unpacking them all again.

They didn't talk much during the transition. There was nothing to say, really. She took a few days off to prepare and he went to work. Staying separate for the past few days was extremely important to her. Were they making the right decision? The thought that they might not be haunted her days and nights. Suddenly, with her empty apartment behind her and him in front of her the answer found her. It was simple and there all the time. Did she want to stay in an apartment full of possessions, alone, and empty, or go to him? That question was too obvious to answer.

"Ready?" he asks her quietly. She turns to stare in the empty room in front of her. One box sits patiently in the middle of the floor. He slips by her to check the other rooms in the apartment giving her one last moment to look and remember. He finishes and waits by the box. She nods at him. He picks up the box and they leave. The door clicks shut with finality.

It's time she moves away; away to a life full of dreams, hope, and time.


End file.
